


Daddy's Girl

by CavannaRose



Series: Rose Wilson Fics [15]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Ravager - Fandom, Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Broken Families, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: Strengthening parent-child relationships requires work and effort. It requires an active presence, a commitment, a certain degree of affection even; unless you were a Wilson. In the Wilson family you simply did as you were told, served your purpose, until you didn’t serve that purpose anymore. Ask Grant. Ask Joey. Hell, ask Terra or Dick, they paid their dues at the altar of Slade Wilson’s overbearing ‘training’. He masked it as love, over and over, but that’s never what he truly offered. It was always a game, another machination.





	1. Chapter 1

Strengthening parent-child relationships requires work and effort. It requires an active presence, a commitment, a certain degree of affection even; unless you were a Wilson. In the Wilson family you simply did as you were told, served your purpose, until you didn’t serve that purpose anymore. Ask Grant. Ask Joey. Hell, ask Terra or Dick, they paid their dues at the altar of Slade Wilson’s overbearing ‘training’. He masked it as love, over and over, but that’s never what he truly offered. It was always a game, another machination.  
  
Yet part of Rose, part of Rose always believed him. Every last time. The world around her saw Rose as violent, untrustworthy, and inconsistent. She was hard. She was cold. No one but Eddie ever saw that she cared. He’d seen right through her, fought her every second, and demanded more from her than anyone else had, because he believed she could. Even he didn’t understand this weakness she had where it came to Slade though.  
  
It all boiled down to family. She clung to the memories of her childhood. Perhaps it wasn’t a normal childhood, but in the depths of her mother’s brothel she had been loved. Her mother had taught her to fight, had cared for her, protected her from the world, until that world came crashing down. Then there were the Madisons, but the curse of being Slade Wilson’s child ripped that from her as well. Then there was her time with Lian Harper… but she couldn’t even begin to dwell on that tragedy. The rage was still so close to the surface, even after all these years.  
  
Her mother was gone. The families she had found here and there; dismantled or destroyed. Her half-brothers, dead before she even knew who they were. Sure Joey came back, but that didn’t last long either, did it? Part of her could see that Slade was a sickness, a disease that eats away at the heart of their family, but in the end, he was all she had. He was her father; her family. As hard as she tried to be, blood called to blood. She craved his approval.  
  
Maybe that’s what she was doing here. Tonight. Katanas gripped tightly in her hands she ran across the rooftop, bent low to minimize the disruption of the lines of the building. She’d left her usual stomping grounds, not because she was tired of beating up junkies and pimps in Crime Alley, but because she was still, somewhere inside, her father’s daughter.   
  
Pressing herself flat against the roof access door, she listened for a moment, focusing on the increased adrenaline from the roof running she had done. There, a flash of her own unique ability. She had an adrenaline inhaler with her, but if she wanted to do right by the memory of friends lost, she would try to do this without the chemical crush. It took half a second longer to sort through the images in her mind, and she let a cold smile cross her face.  
  
With one, smooth motion she broke the lock on the door, kicking it open and striding through. She knew where everyone inside was, they weren’t going to hear her coming. She leapt over the first landing, coming down blades first in the back of the bored looking thug in the expensive suit. He didn’t get to fire the semi-automatic weapon he carried, didn’t even shout an alarm. The only sound he made was a wheezing gurgle as her pristine blades pierced through his lungs from behind. She tilted them forward, allowing him to slide down their length and crumple to the floor. She knelt briefly, unconcerned by the blood staining the floor and the fabric at her knees as she examined the quality of the cloth the man was decked in. Whoever Daddy was working for this time, they had a fucktonne of cash.


	2. Chapter 2

The men in the office building had come apart like they were made of school paste and newsprint. Honestly, for the fight they put up they barely warranted the mess they made. Still, Rose now found herself rifling through a computer full of VERY interesting files. She clicked through the pages detailing what her father had been doing for these men. Someone had been very, very busy. She let out a dark little chuckle, plugging in a usb to the machine and downloading the information she felt was most important, before tucking it away on her person and driving her katana through the hard drive.

Leaving information on a man like her father just sitting there was a beginner's move, and one that could leave the assassin in danger. From past experience, danger to Deathstroke almost always came knocking on the Ravager's door eventually... not really what she was looking for. Still, this was the second building by this particular cartel she had taken out now, and still no sign of Daddy Dearest, though now she had her confirmation that this was where he was currently employed.

Pulling off her half-mask she shook out the long white locks she had inherited from the brilliant strategist, using the crumpled up fabric to wipe the last of the blood and viscera from her blades. The next holding owned by these idiots was about four blocks over, but she was considering calling it a night. She'd eventually dig up her father, and though it had seemed like a good idea when she started, it always seemed less like a good idea as the evenings wore on. Perhaps tomorrow, he'd appear where she was cleaning up house.

The money he was making here was definitely good, that was the thing with drugs, money kind of came hand-in-hand with them. Personally, perhaps more so because of her own history of problems with substance abuse, Rose was quite cheerfully to dismantle the cartel warm body by warm body if that's what it took to catch Slade's attention. Getting drugs off her street was just a pleasant side effect.


	3. Chapter 3

The second night had just barely fallen when Rose slipped out of her ratty apartment, wedging the chair under the door and slinking out the window in what passed as a bathroom alcove for the place. The next location for her father’s employers wasn’t too far from where she was staying. Padding through the dark streets, she chose to eschew her usual motorcycle this night, she thought through her particular plans for the evening.

She wasn’t the mastermind Slade Wilson was known as. Not these days. Between the drugs, and the loss of the one person who kept her sane this long… she was falling apart. Slipping. It was impacting her work, and wearing on the few morals she had amassed over time. Perhaps that was why she felt almost nothing about the lives she had taken the previous night. The men she killed were scum. A joke. Hardly worth the twinge of conscience that sounded so much like Eddie in the back of her mind.

Killing that criminal’s son had almost been a pleasure. There was part of Rose that understood she was losing something every time she enjoyed the pain and death she caused, but at this point she just couldn’t care anymore. There wasn’t enough of her left. Who would notice if she was a monster? No one. Not anymore. A blur of navy, orange and white she scaled the back of the building, entering on the third floor with a sudden shattering of glass. The men waiting around in the room startled, but they weren’t fast enough. Not with the wrath of a Wilson baring down on them.

Her blades flickered crimson and silver, the overhead light swinging on it’s cord, casting a chaotic spray of shadows, further obfuscating the visceral tableau she painted. It was over in moments. Blood splattered across the walls, pooling across the still shadows on the floor that had moments before been living, breathing men. The young woman allowed herself a satisfied smile before heading to the door. Time to see who else was home tonight.

Blood smeared across the pale skin of her cheek, an echo of the crimson dripping from the blades of her matched katanas, she stood in the doorway, a silhouette, backlit by the still swinging bulb behind her. She couldn’t see the man in the room, but when he spoke her name, the young woman’s back stiffened. A myriad of emotions crashed through her. Fear. Love. Anger. Frustration. Relief. Wariness.

Gripping her blades tighter, she widened her stance slightly, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet. She’d wanted his attention, had she not? Was this not the end goal? Perhaps she should have thought things through a little longer… but she was angry. Rage had always been something held close to her heart, the first emotion to cloud her judgement.

Rose turned her head minutely to the side, putting her blind side away from the man who had formed her into the deadly creature she was now. “Good evening Father,” she offered, pleased that her voice remained steady and unwavering. “I see that you received my invitation. I am pleased to see that you could make it.” She may as well have been reading from the dictionary, the level of warmth she exuded in her speech.

She slowly entered the room, caution in her posture, her back always away from the man she claimed blood kinship with. “I am curious, Father,” she ventured once more, “What the vaunted Deathstroke the Terminator is doing slumming for drug pushers and pimps here in the bowels of Gotham. I thought you gave the Bat’s hometown a wider berth since you couldn’t wheedle his young accomplice away from him.” Inwardly she cursed, she had been unable to prevent a modicum of vitriol from spilling across the end of her declaration.


	4. Chapter 4

As defiant as she ever was and ever will be. Here he thought that their little skirmish together, months ago would've at least changed _something_. Deathstroke stood tall and firm, both feet planted like roots, but ready at any moment to dance with his blade in hand.

"What're you up to, Rose? I woke up on that couch after we slept and you had left. You're back now, and it looks like you're hiding something. Intentions. _What_. Is. _It_?" True enough, it was low of him to do so, but after his recent skirmish... He needs to build again. Funds. Respect. _Fear_. Besides, after killing gods, fighting heroes and the like... A bit of this doesn't sound bad.

If Rose had taken anything from her mother, held on to any trait, it was Sweet Lilli's stubborn refusal to change. It had taken a long time to build up the core of what she was, and changing it was... difficult. She didn't want to change. More than that, no matter what games he played, what manipulations masked as softening of the harsh Terminator, he had taught her time and time again that it was all a card in the grand scheme of things. She couldn't trust him, doing so had cost her too much in the past.

Still, she didn't hate him, and when he brought up their time together a few months ago, she couldn't help the soft smile that turned her mouth up at one corner. It was a sincere expression, and she quelled it as quickly as she noticed it. Every emotion she gave him could be a tool he would use against her. She was here to establish some boundaries for fucks sake.

"I left because I will not allow myself to be pulled into your world. I am my own individual, and not just some sidekick. Perhaps we found something of a truce back there, but I will never be Daddy's little girl again. Too much stands between us." After she had so carefully set this all up, he thought she was hiding her intentions? And here she had thought she'd been very clear about what she was doing. That was fine, she could spell it out for the old man if that was what he needed.

"I don't care what you do, but when it hurts the people I stand for, or it steps into my backyard, I'm not going to just let you do whatever. Gotham is a big city. The crooks and crime lords have it all divided up among them. Go step on their toes if you must bait the bat. This. Is. My. Turf. Even the big guns steer clear of it. If I allow you to operate whatever you are doing inside my borders, that brings the Bat with questions about my alignment. That brings the knowing stares as I walk down the street. I stop being The Ravager, and I start being simply Deathstroke's Daughter. I _cannot_ have that. I've worked too fucking hard. Consider this your eviction notice, _Dad_."


	5. Chapter 5

Through his rebirth, the Terminator, Slade Wilson, had hoped to take a different approach with his life. Others might even say he'd gone soft. Like a melted katana, or a disgraced heirloom. He cared for his daughter, but she had gone far enough. Deathstroke gripped his Katana tightly, twirling it in his fingers, before embedding it in the ground at his feet, with enough strength, in fact, that it broke through the marble floor, all the way to the room below's ceiling. The irate father holstered his gun. It was time that he took control. Deathstroke could not permit his daughter’s disobedience any longer. “Let us do this then.”

Rose hesitated for just a moment, she didn’t mean to, she knew what any kind of weakness would earn her from this man, but she couldn’t help it. He was the solace in her hectic past, and the figure from her darkest nightmares. He had given her so much, and taken so much more away. He had honed her into a fine weapon, and then shattered her into a million pieces over, and over, and over again. Putting an end to that had been her only goal for so long. Through his death, through avoiding him... nothing had worked.

So she flinched as he beckoned her forward, and as she did she called herself a million kinds of coward. Adjusting the grip on her katana, she mimicked his own movement, driving her own blade through the cement and scaffolding. He was the better fighter, but with her adrenaline running hot, and him unarmed, she couldn’t do anything but match his approach. Otherwise... mistakes might be made. Mistakes that could never be taken back. Besides, he’d likely have had the blade in his own hand within three moves. That was just how much better than her he was.

Light on her feet, Rose drifted slightly to the left as she approached, hands gripped into fists, raised across the core of her body. So this was to be a lesson, then. She could work with that. All she had to do was keep her feet and give as good as she got. It was about boundaries. Respect. Space. If she could earn his respect, he might just give her that space. Quick on her feet she flashed towards him, left hook aimed for his well-defined cheek bones. Maybe she’d even get first blood.


	6. Chapter 6

Deathstroke was a father. Not a dad. He’d never seen the point, and he never would. But being a father still meant knowing your kids. More than his dead sons, he knew Rose. Her every move. The temper that burned within her, emotions she never could quite learn to contain.  Slade, knew her all too well. He knew she'd send the first strike. This was her moment. Her revenge. Her move. Deathstroke approached steadily, immediately taking one step back which urges her to take a step further as she swung her hook. Before she could complete the strike, he moves, left foot forward as he intentionally slips his whole arm between her left arm and her head. He pivots a foot, and traps her left arm under his. Rose’s father then uses that pivot to send an elbow to her cheek bone instead before he retraces his steps, and moves out of her space, once more separating the two of them.

Rose felt the skin over her cheekbone split, felt the bruising force of his elbow as he used his superior strength and skill to hold her in place. The fury that always burned so brightly at the put of her being blazed. Those emotions she was so bad at containing warred across her face as she stumbled backwards. Anger, pain, shame. That touch of fear that being immobilized, by Slade more than anyone. For a moment, just a moment, she’d been 15 again... that first time he’d held her still and plunged the needle into her flesh. Fuck she thought she was over this fucking shit!

She let out a string of expletives, taking a moment to regain her footing, then crouching low to the ground, circling towards Slade’s blind side. He didn’t have her ability to see seconds into the future, but with his knowledge of her, and his highly tactical thinking, he might as well have it. Besides, her adrenaline just wouldn’t kick up that extra notch. There was no life or death struggle here. If he’d wanted her dead, he would have just killed her. This was just another lesson in a life full of them. Despite her warring feelings... this whole song and dance held the comfort of familiarity. They’d been here so many times before.

 _Fuck... I’m totally going to lose_. Accepting her fate, she settled her hopes lower. Again. Like always. Maybe she’d get to hit him once at least. Launching herself across his blind side she aimed a staccato burst of three blows towards his kidneys, hoping perhaps one of them would land this time.

Deathstroke had to admit. She was indeed his little girl. But a little girl, she will always be. “Always slow on that recovery, Rose.” The mercenary didn't have time to move out of the way, however he did have time to block each and every one of those punches. A knee to counter one. With his legs opened, he punches downward to deflect her next punch before he catches the next. With the space he had, he pulls her arm out of the way and performs a drop kick, straight to the abdomen. Deathstroke pushes off the ground. He was done playing. Slade sprints towards where she had fallen to and he jumps into the sky and aims his fist square on her nose.

Rose’s frustration mounted as he blocked her punches, she let it distract her, and the blow to her face caught her totally by surprise. She let out a small grunt of shock as blood spurted from her nose, stumbling back further. This wasn’t going even a little in her favour. She knew she was outmatched, she always was with Slade, but this was starting to become more shame and less boundaries. She couldn’t tolerate it, had to even the playing field. Rose’s single blue I darted across to the katanas embedded in the floor, but she didn’t truly wish to escalate the events that far. Not when she was losing so badly... Still...

She shot a glance at Slade, and then dove for the blades, using the cover of her tuck and roll to pull the adrenaline needle from her pack. She was loathe to use it, she’d just shaken her reliance on the drug, but when it worked it did make her a better fighter. Let her use her abilities to their fullest without that fear of death driving them. She rolled up between the two blades, ending in a crouch. She raised her face to make eye contact with her father as she flicked the cap off the needle, daring him of all people to interfere.


	7. Chapter 7

 Slade recalls a time where he'd train her, and she’d fight until her bones broke. But now? She slipped away. Deathstroke turned to see her with the needle, and he dares her to rely on a drug to beat him. Besides, this could go two ways. Either he gives her the happiness that would last for as long as that drug... or he gives a lesson that would be more memorable than scars. Deathstroke stood silent, squinting his eyes.

Rose’s knuckles show white, she’s gripping the adrenaline needle so tightly, eye fixed on Slade. Mentally she weighs the odds. How much of the drug can she get into her system before her father crosses the room? Is it worth it? Can she win without it? Or perhaps... well there were all kinds of battles, and once upon a time he had taught her how to fight them all. Her lips curled up in a sardonic smile, gaze flickering across his face. “What’s wrong, _Daddy_? Is it only okay when you hold the needle? You’re the only one who gets to decide what kinds of chemicals get mixed into my blood? I don’t fucking think so. My fucking body. My motherfucking choice.”

She could feel his disapproval across the room, and it fueled that centre of rage and hate that kept her getting out of bed each day, no matter how many bottles she climbed into the night before. How dare he? How FUCKING dare he judge her? Here? Now? She twirled the needle across her knuckles. “Funny how when you create your little monster with drugs, she ends up going back to them for her survival, isn’t it?” Half turning away she changes her grip on the needle and jams it towards her thigh.

The Terminator watched as she jammed the needle into her thigh. He even gave her the time to let the drug work its magic. The guards outside didn't bother barging in. They were there to ensure no one else entered, nothing more. Some things needed to be settled between himself and his wayward offspring. She flew right into the web he wove, trapping herself. Like always. He’d let her have her moment first. After all, he’d always been rather on the indulgent side with his youngest child. He'd let her speak and curse at him. He'd let her do what she would and could to take him down, but one thing was for sure... Deathstroke would take her down eventually, without lifting a single weapon from his arsenal.

The next few moments flashed in Rose’s mind. Motions and movements, attacks and counters, all in the space of a heartbeat as the adrenaline moved through her veins. A thousand possibilities, and even being one step ahead... the same fucking outcome each time. He always won. Did one fight a battle where the odds were stacked so furiously against their favour? ... The main problem, was that she was a Wilson and a Worth. Two lines of fighters. Two stubborn streaks battling against one another. So she tossed aside the used needle, hand coming up to swipe at the blood that slowly trickled from her nose. She had about five minutes before the drug sent her heart into arrest... a side effect of how much she’d been abusing it lately. If she could keep Slade fighting until then... It wouldn’t be him defeating her, it would be her own body.

So the white-haired girl moved across the room to meet her father. Fast enough that the outline of her blurred just a bit, just on that edge beyond human perception where Slade himself lived. She rained a series of blows down at him. Torso, face, face, torso, torso, neck, face. She knew he would block them, she’d already seen it, and he was just that good. She whirled away from him, leg lifting to kick at his head as she left his immediate reach. Always leave them with a parting shot. He’d taught her that too. Funny that.


	8. Chapter 8

Deathstroke welcomed her rebellion. He'd reduce her to nothing once more if he had to. It was always the best way when dealing with his youngest child. Rose came at him with fury and anger, yet despite all that flaring emotion, her attacks were precise, almost as if she was shooting a gun of emotion. Surprisingly, he could just barely block them, let alone evade. This time, her punches, her blows, they were so fast he could hardly anticipate them. He leaned to the left, he using his right forearm to block a right hook. He reached out using his left hand to stop her left hook, before he took a step back to avoid a kick. She then aimed another high kick, a blow that actually grazed the edge of his mask as he dove aside and performed a combat roll. Rose was always a fighter... but that drug only made Rose more like her father.

Rose couldn’t believe she’d actually managed to touch him. Tempted to drop into a defensive posture, she nonetheless launched a second series of attacks, starting low to aim shots at his knees, kidneys and back as she blurred around him, her foresight hinting at which direction he would move next. Inside her head the clock was ticking down. Soon the artificial adrenaline in her system would tear her apart from the inside. She could already feel the tug as she inhaled, her lungs growing damper as blood pooled within them. She would hold off as long as she could though. No weakness shown.

Finally, she let the momentum of her blows take her aside so she could drop into a defensive position, observing her father, bright blue eye glinting in the poorly lit room. She’d not let herself fall into a false sense of superiority. Anything that felt like victory would fade in the storm her father was capable of unleashing if he wished to. The tension had her muscles laced tighter than a new corset, sweat beading on her brow as she waited, breathing as best she could as her insides fought against the drug that was keeping her upright.

Returning from his combat roll, Deathstroke swats and dodges her vicious punches and strikes, ultimately having adjusted to her speed. If she was fast and she could predict his moves... then he'd just have to know himself better, to predict her movement through his own. Deathstroke felt the emptiness of the wind as she went into a defensive stance. He was impressed, but he would not let that colour the lesson that needed to be taught here.  

"My turn." Deathstroke walked towards his daughter, no flicker of emotion on his face, no urgency as he approached the crouching girl. He swung his whole right forearm at her.

Rose met the masked mercenary’s blow with a single armed block, taking the brunt of his superior strength on her forearm, already showing signs of strain as it shook under the force. She saw what was coming, but not soon enough, and Slade’s knee came up into her right side, bruising the base of her ribs and doubling her over. The Ravager struggled to catch her breath, bringing her left arm around to push herself off Slade’s chest and backwards.

The stress of the adrenaline on her already weakened lungs, combined with the brutal force of Slade’s blow to her side was making Rose lightheaded as she attempted to catch her breath. Her back hit the wall and she steadied her pose, making her position more solid and defensible… but was interrupted by a spine-bowing cough. Her gloved hand moved to her mouth, quieting the harsh sound in the secluded space, and luckily the material was dark enough that when she pulled her hand away the blood spattered across her palm was almost impossible to see.

She gave Slade that same ragged, taunting smile. “Gee old man, you really are getting slower.”


End file.
